Otherwise Known as Us
by KPtheMoviesaholic
Summary: Multi-chapter. Inspired by LJ prompts. When Alex's offer for a date is mistaken as a practical joke, the scientist and the bad boy find their relationship in ruins, which none other but the one and only Raven can repair.
1. Part I: Hank

**Disclaimer: this is a part of a fangirl's daydreams.**

Look at him.

_Just look at him._

His face. Its unfolding smile, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes focused on him, lips apart in an act of hesitancy.

"What did you say?" he asked, repressing the strangled hoarseness in his voice, now dropping his test tube in its rack, a hand placed on the lab table to stabilize himself, as he decided to give the invader his full attention.

The blonde pursed his lips and simply repeated his question, his tone the exact same as the first time. (It would have been satisfying were he an actual robot.)

Another spark ignited within the scientist's mind.

_Bastard._

He couldn't be serious. Just who had the nerve to concoct this disturbance so early in the week of training deserved senseless torture. That wouldn't equal half the contractions his heart was undergoing these past few minutes.

He had no troubles with the Academy's official asshole waltzing into his personal territory, (Since the pack of mutants had moved into Charles Xavier's spacious estate, he learned it was as futile to guard his 'home,' as it was to reserve the next piece of apple pie during lunch. They were a disorderly, rowdy bunch. He wondered how they'd survive to the real battle.) no troubles with the bad boy's use of his eyes to inspect his racks and documents, and even only had the slightest bit of disapproval (because it _was_ fucking unnerving) when the line of sight shifted onto his face.

He blinked and adjusted his lab glasses. Was this really happening?

Two, three more seconds, and he still (he cursed himself for being so self-conscious all the time) felt the strong gaze on him. He resisted with all the rational powers he had not to whip himself around and bluntly spit out, "What the hell are you doing?" Instead, he went on dropping chemicals into the test tube, murmuring further plans to avenge the mutant in front of him (which never worked) under his breath. Until he heard the awkward (obviously, to him) shuffling footsteps, heavy, discontinued breathing, and the moist sounds of tongue licking lips. (He prided himself on his active ears, but, ah, had he fantasized about hearing that. No…he really had a knack for recalling the delicious fantasies that were the source of his present torment, didn't he?)

So he glanced up from the bubbling gray liquid…into Alex Summers' eyes.

Unconsciously he felt himself studying the curves of a metallic zip on Alex's leather jacket. How his frame of the outside world changed so fast, as a film's scene cuts to another immediate event happening simultaneously, was his way of avoiding eye contact, he guessed. A small kick in his stomach, and he wondered, really was in thirst to analyze why the blonde was just standing there. No words. No teasing. Physical contact. (The usual means of communication between them)

Silence was a impenetrable wall.

Then Alex decided to ruin his imaginary solitude for him.

"Bozo," he said, his deep voice echoing off the lab walls. What Hank was concerned with was the tone. Maybe Raven had sneaked into the lab and slipped a tranquilizer or a stronger drug (possibly?) into Alex's daily glass of orange juice during breakfast? He was strangely calm. His beginning of a sentence had that rare air of truth, as if he could actually meant what he was going to say.

Hank glared at him anyway.

Alex faltered, surprisingly. "Uh—um, I mean…_Hank_."

He corrected himself? Since when did Alex had it in his mind to address fellow mutants with their respective names, and not his personal creations he seemed so proud of?

Worse, it was the way his name came out of those lips, stripped of Alex's signature coarseness he thought reserved for him. There was an uncharacteristic tenderness masked in there somewhere.

Either Alex had swallowed the wrong bottle of juice or his ears had a major defect. Hank trusted the more likely probability of the latter.

He sighed a little and replied, "Yes?" in a tone indicating his impatience to get the conversation (if it was anything but an eye-staring, mental battle) over with.

"I was thinking…" (Alex Summers considering a decision? Jackpot.) "No, hm—oh, _fuck_!"

The hotheaded blonde gave in to swearing and kicked the ground, irritated at the flow of emotions mysterious to Hank, who by this point was watching in bemusement.

"…go out with me?"

He almost dropped the test tube he was holding, traces of humor disappearing from his face. No, he couldn't be serious.

Why was a person—fine, a mutant—like Alex Summers would be interested in him for a romantic activity as a date? What was the chemistry in the attraction here? The unlikely, opposite poles of magnets? The nerd and his bully? The logical jigsaw pieces did not add up.

When Alex's proposal did not change from its first delivery, Hank concluded the (daring) act to be a new practical joke.

Creative, he had to give Alex that, but what was not in the least a sound contribution to tomfoolery (Alex's specialty) was the effect the simple words (he should have rejoiced at) had on his heart.

Yes, he was a shameful hypocrite, fantasizing about what he deemed impossible and was fully aware of its implausibility. At the very instant, however, he wasn't about to admit that. (To doubt Alex when his own heart was screaming for him to accept!)

He might have developed a fondness for Alex Summers.

Like the birth of other invisible, fickle human emotions, the feeling evoked in him occurred unnoticed. It wasn't difficult to have his attention projected onto a particular mutant who was asking too much of (and abusing) it. That was the first stage. Alex's constant 'light bullying' of him, coining terms for just him (and two of those, in fact). Then there was his face. Oh, he didn't know how to begin. The stupid, mischievous expression, his disarming smirks, teasing eyes…he could go on. And the voice, its sharp edge whenever Alex called his name. Today it was devoid of any characteristic, cocksure charm it normally had (another reason to doubt Alex). The second stage was when he discovered it took unreasonable efforts to look Alex in the eyes. Or glance at his face as he used to do. Blush would color his cheeks, and he would have to calm the bizarre rush of heat wave that was within him to continue whatever it was he was doing. Things were hardest when conversations became unavoidable, especially since he was developing that damn personalized suit for Alex. He'd had his eyes on something plain while Alex jabber away, and added in every now and then when he felt it was necessary to stop the boy's bullshit.

Yet sometimes he lost focus (as us imperfect humans are inclined to) and zeroed in on the danger zone: the lips.

He looked at them now, nearly slapping himself when he realized what fun his ridiculous imagination had been having.

Pathetic fool.

It was only in his mind that Alex expressed interest in him. Just what was happening now bordered on the skew, (and not-so-symmetric anymore) line he drew between dreams, illusion, and reality.

_Of course it's not true. It can't be happening. He's toying with your feelings. Another one of the games he used to boost his ego. _

_Don't give in. Distrust your stupid heart. It's only acting on its jolted impulses. False alarm. Mocking, pretended act of interest. Dismiss _everything.

He made the short mental trip back to reality and was surprised to notice Alex had remained in his spot, hands tucked in the pocket of his jeans, nonchalantly watching him.

The sight of the blonde.

He couldn't take it.

"So," Alex said again when he met Hank's inquiring stare, "What'd you say?"

**A/N: Multi-chapter! trololol. To be Continued :D.**

**Thank you all my lovely readers, reviewers, and anyone who's stopped by or clicked on this story, **

**Much loves,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)  
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	2. Part II: Alex

**Disclaimer: Another one of the Daddy Charles Disapproves!relationships unseen on screen, for your pleasure.**_  
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_All right. _

_You can do this. _

_Come on, Alex._

_You caused a riot in your own neighborhood, terrorized your peers out of their wits, and tried to break out of prison._

_Why can't you do this?_

_Why? _

_Just opening your mouth and speaking? That's it? You're too weak to do something like that now, are you? _

_Oh, fuck Hank….actually, that's a nice thought._

_No, damn you. Damn brain. Not the path to stroll along now! Focus. Come on. You. Can. Do. This._

_Easy. _

_Fuck the stupid feelings. Fuck this desperate frustration._

_Say it. Go on._

"Bozo."

_No, wrong. _

_He wouldn't like that, now, would he?_

_No, he would have to and—_

_Damn it, Alex, you're trying to woo him, admit it, for Christ's sake. Be civil for once._

_Okay._

_Deep breath._

_Try again._

_Yes, he wouldn't like that._

_Good boy. Now call him as he is._

"Hank."

_There we go. Continue, please._

"Uh…would you—(why the hell are those two words so painfully difficult to utter?)—go out with me?"

_Oh, God. (So round one's over.)_

Alex Summers sighed. His own reflection in the bathroom mirror returned him the restless, disturbed look now plastered on his face. (What a loser!)

"What," he asked the reflection, "Do you think it'd work?"

No answer. He huffed, fists balled up, and unconsciously banged his head on the wall behind him.

_Bang!_ Hank wouldn't believe this shit of an act. _Bang!_ Why do I even bother practicing the damn thing? _Bang! _This is the closest to insanity I've come to. _Bang!_ I've lost my head. _Bang!_ So I've become a victim of my own feelings?

He stopped at the last question, hearing Raven's sarcastic, loud, "Thanks for the beats, _Havok_!" (She only called him by his codename when he committed a crime which embodied it), but the words didn't linger in his head.

What sank down in his stomach was heavy hopelessness.

_It wouldn't work_, his subconscious drummed incessantly as he kicked open the bathroom door and stomped his way out to his bed.

Sunday morning, the mutants' day of rest for the week. He had retreated to his bedroom after breakfast in preparation for the doomed action he was about to attempt. He rolled his eyes at the nonsense of it all and, hands brushing the sides of his shirt, locked himself in the bathroom for the short, useless pep talk.

The minutes that passed between his step inside and outside that boundary into his subconscious did not ease his growing discomfort.

He could have been close to confessing his sins.

The realization numbed him, struck him like an arrow shot aimed at a transparent heart.

Bluntly (if it's the last thing he was, go ahead) put, he wanted to fuck Hank McCoy.

Lust, pure and sweet, warming up his body. He wasn't sure if it was love. Christ, between the two of them intimacy wasn't exactly the best defining word.

He had run his eyes along those pink, full pair of lips (of course disregarding Hank's usual scientific stream of nonsense) and imagined what it would be—hell, what it would _feel_ like to kiss them, and urge them open with the tip of his tongue. But his stray mind was distracted. Hank had on his habitual shirt that day, except by some stroke of luck (his, who else?) had left his collar unbuttoned further than normal. And he feasted on the precious view of the exposed pale skin on display, that was begging for his lips' attention and his hands' caresses.

Temptation was the wickedest bitch.

He wanted to feel that toned body pressed against him—(because he knew—and had been repeating the overused account of how he came by that fact in his daydreams—that there was literally more to that nerdy exterior, that time he accidentally—honest, who wouldn't trust him?—walked in on a dazed Hank emerging from his bathroom. Knocks proved unnecessary to him since then.), let his hands act on their instinct and slowly, ever so slowly, as that stuttering, smartass voice breathlessly whisper his name, claim the scientist to be his.

But then he heard Charles's voice intruding into his subconscious and felt himself back on the lab table with the pack of mutants behind him, listening to Hank's lecture about their body suits.

He was left licking his lips, desire clouded his eyes, but thankfully (though how tedious and long it stretched) the lecture gave him an excuse to continue his 'sightseeing.'

So there he was. Already staggering at the first stage to fulfill his dream. A date would be the starting point, and after….if the scientist shared his wishes, who knew where they'd go?

He saw a flicker of want in those hypnotizing blue sapphires one afternoon when their eyes met. Then Hank (foolish boy) drifted his vision, and the spell was broken.

He didn't know when he started to listen to that awkward voice in interest and saw the times the brunette adjust his glasses to be adorable.

The fickleness of his heart drove him closer to the edge. He wasn't usually that easy to interpret, to jump to his wants. Hank was an anomaly that ruined his system. By the time interest had hatched into desire, he found himself in a maze without an exit.

Prison brat and orphaned child (save for his brother, but let's not mention that at the moment), social uneasiness was just another guaranteed component sent with his life package. He behaved like he knew best, and that was to guard people from him, not to attract them closer.

He struggled with himself. Tried to calm down the erupting, erratic feelings that tormented him to no end. But it was no use.

_Now what?_ his mind (the sole consultant he had) asked.

The obvious solution was right in front of him. He was choosing to leave it off until he could take it no longer.

He needed to ask the boy out.

But what was simple—spoken words—was a challenge to the heart. It was a known fact he wasn't open with his emotions. They knew only the coarse, foul-mouthed bully side to him, not the sensitive, conflicted side that he sought to hide. He was used to stuffing words down his throat and to say whatever shit was on his mind, not the shit that mattered.

Not the words that he wanted to mean.

He plunked himself down on the bed, as the thoughts took over.

Can I really do this?

_Don't be a coward. Get the fuck up and go! Now._

But I don't want to.

_You're a lousy liar._

Not to Hank. He still believes perfectly that I hate him. Despise his bones.

_To yourself, you are. What, he'd be alone, in his lab, surrounded by his equipments, just waiting for you—_

No, he isn't.

_-to come. And here you are, rolling around in your bed, clothed, also alone, and did I mention sexually frust—_

Oh, shut up.

_You're going to do it again, aren't you?_

It's not wrong to help myself.

_It's wrong to not help yourself to the real thing, my friend._

What are you, Charles?

Alex_. Just go. Saying it isn't hard._

You're not saying it.

_We're the same person, get it, you dummy? You don't get any, I don't get any._

I'm talking to my split self, great. All because I wanted to fuck someone?

_Insanity's a nice place, isn't it? I don't mind it here at all._

…

…

So.

_So?_

I just walk in there and say.

…_Go out with me?_

That's it?

_Going to cost much of your bad boy image, dignity, anything?_

Being repaid in Hank is worth it.

_And you're waiting for….?_

"For you to shut up, stupid mind," he said aloud, getting up.

He got dressed hastily and rushed off on his way.

He pushed the lab doors opened and stepped in.

_Be normal. _

_Normal's the last thing I can be right now, so fuck off._

As it was a habit of his (sort of a light masochistic feel to it), he would delay his eyes and explored instead the surroundings, the messy cabinets and the lab tables, before landing his eyes on the target.

And relished the short while he had to stare.

Hank seemed disturbed—he felt that, all right.

The damn conversation started too close to how he had practiced it. He was rewarded with an irritated glare (well, Hank was listening to him, anyhow) before he amended himself. Hostility waned from the scientist's eyes this time.

He must be doing something right.

Then Hank answered, a short "Yes?" but Alex knew that was his permission for him to go on.

He failed. Swearing was another way to cover up the embarrassment.

And…it might have been a fractured sentence, but it was an understandable one.

He said it. Them. The words, he meant. And actually, for once, meant them wholeheartedly. He wanted to go out with the nerd.

He saw Hank's hand shake, the test tube it was holding tremble, and Hank's face distorted into the exact opposite of what he was hoping to see.

_Oh. _Fuck_. _

_I'm seeing it in his face._

_He didn't see it that way, did he?_

_After all the efforts I went through just for him, and he thinks I'm pulling a prank?_

_I wish the same._

_It'd be half as painless if it were an actual joke._

_Trouble was, feelings…emotions…urges…desires…those weren't jokes. Nothing of comic nature. _

_And seriousness was a delightful torture._

Alex said the words again as Hank asked. The second time it was easier. They slid off his tongue, though quite unlike the rush of emotions he tried to conceal.

Why wouldn't he get it already?

Pathetic fool.

So he did nothing but stood there, eyes locked on Hank, waiting.

Hoping.

Until Hank opened his mouth, and, his back to Alex, simply replied, "Get out."

**A/N: Alex's a masochist. _I'm_ a masochist. **

**Ugh. Stop killing me, Hank, just stop.**

**We'll see what Raven has to say about this, won't we?**

**All in good time XD**

**Again, big thank you's to everyone, all of you, reading, reviewing, 'story-alert'ing and favorit-ing this story,**

**I wouldn't be able to do this without you guys! **

**Love and rock on,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)  
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	3. Part III: Raven

**Disclaimer: If X-Men: First Class were an all-you-can-ship buffet then...**

Hair. Check.

Make up. Check.

Outfit style. Check.

Smile. Perfect.

Raven Darkholme frowned at the reflection staring back at her in the mirror. This blonde, blue-eyed beauty wasn't exactly who she was.

Well, it was a part of who she was, maybe. Or an appearance she would like to have. She wasn't sure.

That was the problem.

She wasn't sure.

Secretly. (She didn't dare to admit the fact to even Charles, whom she tended to feel increasingly paranoid of his proximity to her mental privacy, but whom had promised not to probe her mind. He shouldn't. And he'd better not be!) she loved her blue form and relished in Erik's praise for it: exquisite.

That was how she wanted to feel.

Admired. Valued. Precious.

She couldn't understand why people's eyes darted on and off the intricate, complicated, yet natural flow of patterns decorating her form in disgust, or why they wrinkle their noses at her auburn hair, seemingly a mismatch to the color of her body.

Because, the way she interpreted the situation over the years in Charles's sheltered estate, mutation was supposed to be beautiful. God's gift. Connection to mankind. Evolved, special species. Rarity was undervalued and under-appreciated. Charles himself had told her once.

He was the first who wholly accepted her and became her friend—brother, whatever, a relationship as close as two mutants could share that's not akin to love.

She didn't view him that way—the traumas of her lifelong dilemma only began their light attacks on her conscience when hormones kicked in.

They—those humans—forced her to again question the way she was.

And sadly, the verdict announced, as it did when she was a child, that the way she was wasn't the way they'd like her to be (even the way Charles would like her to be!)

They forced her to hide. She'd learned to blend in, yet not without struggling within herself.

What if she didn't want to?

What if.

Just who would be there to appreciate her beauty—not the way they wanted it—but the way she did.

She used to long for normalcy.

To just be like—like everyone else.

But at the heart, down to her genes, she knew she wasn't.

Anything but. Normal.

(Not even close).

It was an endless debate she couldn't determine the final answer to.

Following her heart or blindly accepting their eyes, which judge fellow beings based on exterior appearances?

They wouldn't know her. They'd think of her and judge her as the girl they wanted to view her to be.

She existed only in their slanted perceptions of her, and they in hers.

_Fuck it._

She threw down the hairbrush she was holding on the vanity opposite her bed.

_You have better things to think about than this. Right now._

One quick glance at the mirror and minor adjustments of her clothes, and she was off.

There was something peculiar about Alex that morning. They guy (who more or less never paid a split second of attention to her) was fidgeting a great deal. He devoured his breakfast—gulping down his milk and orange juice and munching his way through his cereal. He didn't bother to wait for everyone to finish, but bolted upright, murmured, "Sorry, got to go," brusquely, and disappeared.

Female instinct (the sense she had been using acutely) informed her that something troubling his mind was more than daily arguments with Sean or guilt at Charles after "accidentally" destroying yet another statue (the last one wasn't pretty. She was sure the person it was modeled after, if he were not dead already, would have died of a heart attack at the sight of Alex's masterpiece.)—it was a confession, a retreat for preparation of some sort, something along that line.

The way guys were nervous before their first dates, before asking girls out the first time. They'd have that secretive, don't-mess-with-me-this-is-just-another-day-in-my-life-I'm-trying-to-get-through air to the ones around them and rush about for no reason.

Charles had had a few of those (She blamed his studious nature which allowed for a close circle of friends and actual dates—not the ones he used those groovy mutation lines on at bars—once every, say, two years?) but he was never this alerted or jittery. Alex, an embodiment of his mutant ability, a bundle of fiery energy.

He was sort of a cool guy, she'd admit. Hotheaded and arrogant most of the time, so used to isolation that conversations (and relationships) with him were a little more than awkward.

The way he talked to her and Angel, Raven wondered (in her rare moments of having him on her mind) if the guy ever had a girlfriend.

But then.

She had Hank.

Alex almost bumped into Hank on his way out of the dining room. She saw him dodge the gangly scientist as if they were enemies on a football field, and ran away. Hank, being his adorable, hesitant self, was merely standing there, rigid as a pole. He looked down at Alex from his towering six feet something frame briefly, pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, and, noticing the 'obstacle,' was cleared, took his place opposite her at the table.

She smiled at him.

He returned the greeting in the same manner.

He was the first mutant (who was not her 'brother') she could connect to. They both had something to hide. (Charles could easily blend in with the crowd, literally. He was in their heads. Invisible, enviable advantage.)

She watched the way he looked at her when they first met and she knew.

He was interested.

And she would probably have tasted those lips had Erik not been there to interrupt them.

Then there was the time they were left alone in the lab (because, honestly, she volunteered to bring him water). She could feel bursts of his warm, hot breaths when she was inches away from his lap. Teasing him (but hey, she was only expressing interest in his analysis of her genes, right?)

But he was a damn gentleman, and wordlessly after she stood up, nothing happened.

Nothing like she'd hoped, anyway. He thanked her for stopping by, stared at her for a while, apparently searching for words to say, before excusing himself.

She'd have to step up her game if she were to get the scientist to experiment on her some more.

Morning ran its course in the same dreadful pattern. He finished his breakfast at the same time as the other mutants (and her). They then disintegrated for what Charles termed, "Morning Recreation," but what was simply known to them (excluding Erik), as "Professor X and Magneto's Quiet Alone Time Without the Kids."

It wasn't until later that morning when she heard a deafening slam! of the laboratory's metallic doors and saw Alex storming off towards his room.

But there was only Hank in the lab.

And if the bad boy had had his way…

What could possibly?

* * *

><p>She found Hank at his desk, face devoid of any readable expression. He glanced at her, his lips tightened into a thin line.<p>

"Hey," she said softly, "You ok?"

Probably the most logical question to go in for.

He blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine," in a tone voicing the opposite.

She sighed and sat herself down on a stool facing him. "You can tell me, you know," she began, hand patting his arm. "Is it…"

He avoided her eyes. "Nothing. I'm okay. I'm working." His cracking voice betrayed him.

She reached over and squeezed his hand, telling him, "Whatever it is, it'll be all right. I'll help you figure it out."

An impossible promise. She could be of some use to the young Ph.D. graduate in matters of the heart (as she suspected it to be), at least.

She thought of Alex, his actions during breakfast and recently, and looked at the zombie Hank in front of her. The connections—these dots—almost formed a complete line, one she refused to believe had been drawn.

So she excused herself (and was replied with Hank's deadpan, "Please tell the Professor I won't be in for dinner today,") and headed towards her next destination.

It took her five knocks and a half (her fist was in mid-air about to hit the door when it opened) before Alex showed himself. He's wearing one of his old undershirts and plain jeans, his eyes warning her to "go fuck yourself," but she stood her ground.

He lazily leaned against the door frame, looking her up and down. "Know you'd come around someday, but, sorry, babe, not the time."

She had her arms crossed at her chest. "What. Did. You. Do. To him?"

Visible surprise flickered on and off on his face. Blunt indifference replaced incredulity. "Who?"

She wanted to punch his ignorant face at the ridiculous rise of pitch.

"You fucking know who, Alex," she said, her volume louder than she'd intended.

His lips curled up at her words, face bemused. "Oh, you mean—"

"Yes, I mean Hank."

"You sure?"

"No, I'm very doubtful. Oh, come off it!" she huffed. Stupid, senseless bastard. Why couldn't he be half the gentleman Hank was? She couldn't get anything right in this mansion. It was either at one end of the boy spectrum's extremes or the other.

He grinned, but she could read the shattering vulnerability in his eyes. He wasn't that good an actor as he'd like to be. A little more knocking and she could tear this stubborn rock down.

"Fine, so what if I did?" he said, finally, to the wall behind her.

She rolled her eyes. "What the fuck did you do? _What_ _the fuck_ did you do so he's acting like the living dead? Do you know? Because, oh, if you do, I'd very much like—"

"—Shut up," his sharp words surprised and cut her off in the middle of her sentence. She examined him. The nonchalance written across his features dissolved at the words 'living dead,' as a dark shadow overcast his face. Guilt replaced the antipathy (for her) waning from those blue headlights.

"Shut up," he repeated, anger suddenly clouding his eyes. "I did nothing. And it's none of your fucking business, so back off."

And he slammed the door.

She staggered back, shocked at the transformations she witnessed in his expressions, and called after him, "I could help!"

There was a thunderous _thump!_ Raven wondered when Charles would actually be charging the mutants for damages caused to the mansion.

"I don't need your help!" She heard his frustrated shout, accompanied by yet another sound of a heavy object colliding with the wall.

Damn him.

"I don't want to see Hank like this as much as you," she managed. A conversation with the door was civil enough. She was on the verge of her next sentence when the door was yanked open and Alex's exasperated blue eyes met hers.

"Who says I care about him?" he countered, biting his lips.

She shrugged. "I don't know, your eyes?"

He gave her a light shove away from his door's boundary. "Fuck my eyes," he said curtly, "I don't care. I _don't _care, okay?"

He turned on his heels, about to resume his session of peaceful hell when she stopped him, her hand on his shoulder, warning, "They'll know about this."

'They,' of course, was the reference to the rest of the mansion, their public, if this were a private story.

Raven saw him freeze visibly for a moment. The words after tumbled disjointedly out of his lips. "So what?"

"Do you really want them to know?" she continued, in spite of the fact that she was conversing with the door once more (It was getting real friendly to her), "Do you?"

This time the wall between them remained sealed. Silence voiced his ignorance and refusal to answer her relentless questions.

Her head was still blank on why she had chosen to mess in on their relationship (_Could there be a relationship? Was there a relationship? Please, please let it not be what it is!_ Her heart preferred to disregard the obvious evidence). All she knew was that she wanted Hank back the way he was. And that Alex, the worst asshole she'd ever met, fully deserved his punishment.

_Oh, just wait. You don't need my help now. Fine._

_Soon you'll be the one begging at my door._

_Try me, Alex, try me._

_You don't know who you're dealing with._

**A/N: Ooo, Raven. :P**

**More fun from this lot coming right up!**

**Thank you to all of you. You don't know how much your feedback and support mean to me. You guys are awesome!**

**Loves, always,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**

**PS. I can't really take credit for the "slanted perception" line. That's from the amazing screenplay of the movie A Single Man, starring Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, and (darrrling!) Nicholas Hoult (yes, he was the one who said this line in the movie, in one of my favorite movie scenes of all time)****, directed by Tom Ford. The movie was amazing as well. Highly recommended. **_  
><em>


	4. Part IV: Alex and Raven

**Disclaimer: the boys let loose...and were treated to a bit of fun ;)**

There were only certain things one could do when the target of one's desires was leaning dangerously on top of one in an attempt to reach for a book on the shelves behind him.

Hank's legs were in between his, face a few inches between Alex's, and his body, oh, pressing against him. The friction, cloth against cloth. A little adjustment and Alex could get him in the position he wanted.

But his breathes hitched. His brain was a mess. He couldn't think clearly.

Those supple lips were there…just there…brushing his hair…and…

"What are you doing here, man?"

_Crap._

Alex jumped. He turned around to face a curious Darwin, Sean trailing in tow. He was standing in front of Raven's room, in the hallway, and a seductive Hank was nowhere in sight (except that wasn't a dream).

He brushed his hands on his gray X-training sweatshirt, cursing under his breath. "N—nothing," (damn the stutter!) "I was…leaving…uh, passed by, you know."

King of lame excuses, that's who I am.

Darwin looked unconvinced. Sean looked smug about something he couldn't quite place, but the two (finally, _finally_) decided to leave him alone.

Unfortunately he was the target of the entire mansion as of late. Word had gotten out about his secret attempt to date Hank. (He should have known better. There were no secrets under Charles's mental radar…or Raven's gossipy mouth.)

The Professor looked as if he had an upcoming lecture to reprimand him whenever their eyes met. Alex would cast his sight on something else instead, unsuccesfully trying to hide the guilt betraying him on his face. Even Erik was shaking his head when he came across Alex (an unfathomable fear formed in him. The Shark was displeased).

Angel narrowed her eyes at him, hands on her hips. "Better luck next time, boy," she said, "What're you messing with Hank for?" Sean whistled when he walked pass, "Upping your prank games, aren't you?"

And Darwin, his best buddy (aside from Hank, before those inconspicuous feelings erupted on him), had the nerve to corner him in the library, determined to extract the truth from him. He wanted to laugh at the disbelief that crossed Darwin's face when he insisted the deed was done consciously and out of his own free will. He was let out, though the mutant remained skeptical towards him.

And here he was just caught lurking outside another potential victim of his (okay, okay. So he admitted he might have been a prick lately, but did fate think it fair to repay him with a shit load of bad luck?) when in reality it was just the opposite. (Translation: Raven had him writhing under her claws.)

Now why was he here? What use?

He had trapped himself in the position he held Raven prisoner for a few days ago—keeping a locked door company.

Oh, God.

Warm, burning touch of the hands…breaths…lips….tongues…

He shuddered. His defences were shattered. Desires had (foolishly) given its way to vulnerability.

but if…if anyone were to know the causes of his distress, it would be her. (Bitch.)

_A step closer to the door. His fist hovered in the air, hesitant as its owner. _

_Don't knock. Don't knock._

_Come on, knock. Put an end to all this nonsense already._

_Don't—_

_Go on…_

He closed his eyes (whatever, whatever!) and collided his fist against the wooden door.

It took him five knocks and a half before Raven showed herself. She was wearing training clothes as he did and was clearly enjoying her time off.

He saw delight dancing in her eyes as she assumed her innocent face. "So," she began, "What brings _Havok_ to my door?"

He wanted to grab her and squeeze the explanations out of her. Torture her until she suffered as much as he did, until he could no longer sense the disturbing air that she held a superior position in the situation over him, but he restrained himself, huffing. He slammed his arm against the door frame.

"What did you do to him?"

She examined her nails. "Who?"

Sweet lord. He actually had to go through this? Protest and anger he tried to suppress rose in his chest again.

"You fucking know who, Raven," he said. Words came out through gritted teeth.

Raven gave him her best nonchalant, blissfully ignorant grin. "Are you talking about—?"

A third of his patience gone, he knocked his fist on the wall. "Damn it. Hank! Raven, Dr. McCoy? The Scientist?" he breathed, "Whatever name you have for him?"

Even her light chuckles annoyed the hell out of him. "Oh, _Hank,_" she drawled, glancing back into her room (Alex's hairs prickled at the thought that Hank himself might be hiding in there, listening his life's most awkward conversation with another mutant.). She was collected as he was explosive. He was ready to burst, and it seemed she was relishing his failure to conceal his rising agony. "Why, what did he do to you?"

Her carefree question was the final straw. He lost it.

"What did he do? What did he do to me?" frustration tuned his shout, "What_ didn't _he do with me?"

Yes, what, indeed.

Raven

A little taste of her revenge, a dose of his personalized poison, that's what.

Alex might have thought he had extinguished the fires of his embarrassing session with Hank through his exchange with her, but she walked away from his room a mutant with a mission. Soon the mansion's inhabitants were alerted to Alex's little rendezvous and she had to resist giggling every time she observed an interaction between one of them and the faltering, unsuspecting Alex.

Before long, of course, he realized what was going on, though she had already had her share of fun.

That was just the beginning.

She offered to bring Hank his lunch (a sandwich and a glass of water) and approached him in the lab (He had refused to come out ever since the 'incident' happened, having buried himself in his work. Poor thing.). She put the plates down, audibly enough so he would spin around in his office chair to face her.

His expression remained unchanged as the last time she saw him. He drowned some words in his throat, just searching her face for reasons. So she sat herself down on the stool and began, "Hank, this isn't healthy."

His eyes diverted to the sandwich. "What are you talking about? All the nutri—"

She waved a hand in front of his glasses. "No, I meant…" and she queued her own pauses, "With Alex."

Hank took out the glasses and a cloth from his lab coat's pocket and started polishing them.

"Hank," she called his name again, softly, "You shouldn't be hiding because of him."

He looked up at her.

"If, you know, if he was just teasing you," she said, "Why don't you get him back?"

The scientist remained motionless in his place, unfazed by her words. He put his glasses back on, mumbling, "Wh—what do you expect me to do then?"

Ah, why couldn't he ask that sooner. She had had her lines at the ready for quite a while.

She leaned in close, whispering in his ears. She felt his uncontrolled, dizzy motions as a result of her suggestions and touched his shoulder to calm him down.

Now his blue eyes focused on her, point-blank. "You serious?"

She had resumed her position, and, grinning, replied, "He deserves it. And better yet, you'd know if he actually is interested."

A blush crept up his cheeks as Hank coughed uneasily.

She cringed. _So that was unexpected. _But she waited.

Hank seemed to wrestle with his thoughts during the excruciating silence between them. At last (she was watching the seconds tick by on the lab's clock on the wall) he said, "I could try, I guess."

And she was up on her feet, hugging his neck (Hank was frozen solid). "Perfect!" her voice too giddy than she'd like it to be.

"Now, to begin our plan…"

Alex

It was the most ordinary of mornings. He'd finished his breakfast and was on his way out of the dining room when (anomaly number one) Hank showed up.

_All right. This is normal. This is normal. Just walk pass him. Walk. Like. Nothing's happened. Easy. Walk. _

_You. Can. D—_

_Fuck._

_What was that?_

The scientist usually had his breakfast after Alex, so that the two had never directly meet. And if they did, they kept out of each other's ways. This time, Alex felt warm flesh graze against his right shoulder as he strode past Hank, and, quite simply, he forgot to breathe.

The touch was brief, yet tantalizing. Alex was left standing, mouth agape (he wasn't aware of this, until Sean had pointed out), puzzled. Hank had already taken his seat and helped himself to Charles's homemade pancakes.

As if nothing had happened.

Raven

"We begin with a light treatment, Hank, testing the waters here. Casually walk pass him, brush his shoulder. That would do the trick. If he shudders, if his breath is discontinued, any remote sign of reaction at all…"

"Yes?"

She smiled. "You've got him good."

Alex

_So that was the morning. _

_That stuff's in the morning._

_Forget. Forget it._

_He's probably—oh, no. Most likely it was an accident._

_That's it._

_He just happened to walk pass you without the usual focus and just…brush his arm on your shoulder, that's all._

_Yeah. Probably it._

_And so I should feel nothing whatsoever when I open this laboratory door, step in, and let him work his hands (Oh, the thought. The thought.) all over me (What?) in, uh, measuring me for the new suit. Absolutely nothing. Neutral, as in, Charles Xavier calm._

_Damn it. Why is it that his appointment's moved to today? Suddenly Angel, who's supposed to have her measurements taken today, sent word to Hank that she was 'sick.' So he was up._

_Great._

_Come on. Go. Go. You shouldn't be wasting his time. You've done a considerable damage to his heart. _

_Open._

Hank was standing there, armed with his measuring equipments. Alex gulped at the slight smile on the scientist's face (what was this rumbling in his stomach? Bad food?). "You ready?" Hank said.

He didn't realize he was standing in place, dumbfounded, for some time when Hank repeated his question again. "Oh—um, yeah, _yeah_," he replied, stepping over to stand opposite the brunette, "Since when am I not?"

_Right. Your voice's back. Keep going on. You're doing fine._

Hank unfolded the measuring tape and wordlessly maneuvered his way in different sections of Alex's body. He didn't want to let it show, but, God, it was wonderful, having the scientist's hands on him, drifting from his shoulder to his waist.

Just what would it be like to have those talented hands on his skin, flesh to flesh…sans these—clothes…these unnecessary obstacles…made him shudder.

The _thoughts_.

He was pretty sure he had unconsciously sighed.

_No, bad. Bad Alex! You're losing it, you know that? You're losing it. Bad._

He felt Hank's eyes on him, a finger trailing down his chest (_Ah_…), "Something wrong?" he asked.

And that voice. Damn voice. So fucking innocent. He wanted to unceremoniously threw himself at the scientist and take him right there—the wall, whatever. He couldn't care.

His cheeks burned, and it took all the efforts within him to meet Hank's eyes. "Nothing," he croaked out, "Nothing."

But he knew he was losing.

And that he was a pathetic liar.

Raven

She entwined her hands in his. "Your hands," she said, and he gave her a confused look, "They work magic."

She guided 'the tools of warfare,' as she called them, to her hips. "Touch him," she whispered, "Touch him, just a little, here and there."

And she let go of them. "Is his measuring appointment soon?"

He took out what seemed a small pocket diary from his other lab coat pocket and turned a few pages. "Angel's next."

Raven winked at him knowingly. "I'll take care of that, you just worry about your boy, okay?" she sashayed out of the room, calling after him, "And remember, this is a sample. A taste. Leave him wanting more."

Alex

He didn't remember what human excuses he had used to flee the laboratory. Never mind that. It's a different period of the day now. "Study time," Charles had named it. He was off to the library.

_Right. Library. _

As the day progressed, his thoughts had to be cut into digestable chunks. He made his way to the appointed place and sunk down on an armchair. He had barely grabbed a book from the shelf behind him and start reading when, out of a corner of his eyes, he saw Hank enter.

Fucking tease.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice low and inviting. Alex already felt sweat forming in his back at the words.

He kept his eyes on his books. _Read. The Words._ "Not at all," he said, turning a page.

Hank didn't answer. He walked over to where Alex was sitting and that was when it happened.

The brunette was sprawled on top of him, his gangly legs in the way of Alex and his book (which was abruptly discarded onto the floor), his arm reaching toward the back of Alex.

"Wha—" Alex breathed, his thoughts rendered incomprehensible, his words a jumble of nonsense, "Wh—what are you doing, Hank?"

His lungs were deprived of air yet again. And when he did breathe, it was the scent—the intoxicating scent of Hank.

"Needed to get a book," Hank whispered, his voice in that same tone Alex loathed, the tone that got him delirious for no reason, at the prospects of fulfilling some of his daydreams with the scientist. His hot breaths tickled Alex's neck, and the blonde struggled to move away. But it was like a dead end. Struggling only eased the distance between Hank's (_Ohgod,Ohgod,Ohgod_) delicious body and his. "Get it for me?"

Stupid voice. _Stupid sultry voice_.

Also, stupid, _stupidly_ gorgeous man that was Hank. He's tall. Why couldn't he get his stupid book in some normal way and leave him alone?

He was sure a tiny movement more and Hank would have broken him. He was so ridiculously worked up it wasn't funny anymore.

What tricks were he up to?

His mind blank, he reached back and grabbed a random hardback in a quick, robotic motion to hand to Hank. "Here," he squeaked.

Hank grinned, pleased, taking the book from Alex, "Thanks," his lips brushing Alex's hair.

_Hell, save him. Anyone. Save him._

And just like that, he had gotten up and walked out of the library, tapping the book on that fine ass as his towering figure left the room.

_What._

He shouldn't be looking. He shouldn't even be looking and gasping and feeling out of breath as he was right now.

Something was wrong, and Alex was sure it wasn't entirely because of Hank.

Raven

This time she was circling him, and she bent down, lips next to his ear. "Your voice," she whispered, "Breaths. Simple, yet effective."

She trailed a finger down his chest. "Use it wisely, and you'll be rewarded."

Alex

By the time night fell on the mansion, he was a mumbling mess.

He couldn't believe he was at Hank's mercy. He was teased, attacked, and tempted mercilessly, and he couldn't act on his own desires or even return Hank some of the favors.

The beast was too quick for his own good.

He was in the kitchen (alone, thank God), in his pajamas (those classic ones with matching trousers, his was blue with star patterns). He had opened the fridge and got out a carton of milk, as was his habit to drink before bed. He placed the carton beside a glass he had gotten from the cupboard and was pouring milk into the glass when he heard sounds of steps approaching.

_Please don't let it be him._

_Let it be—_

_No, don't. Please. _

_Yes. Let it—_

"Hey," Hank greeted him with a friendly smile, "Can I have a glass too?"

Milk spluttered onto the counter (_Fuck._ He was going to have to clean up that mess. Charles would murder him if sticky white substance was detected on the spotless, black counter in the morning.) as Alex made the mistake of looking up and saw Hank standing within touching distance, wearing only his boxers.

He sucked on his lips and awkwardly put the carton down, as he reached for another glass with shaking hands.

_Stop. Stop what you're doing. _

_What the hell am I doing?_

_Oh, right, serving an alluring, shirtless Hank McCoy his nighttime glass of milk. Because, what am I, his babysitter?_

All the while he was trying to maintain his normal movements, Hank was watching him with interest. He suppressed a shaky sigh and placed Hank's glass on the counter with a small clank! Luckily Hank chose not to say a word, so he managed to fill the glass without spilling more milk.

He handed Hank his glass, pointedly shifting his eyes at the wall behind the scientist.

_Keep. Calm. _

_S. Fucking. O. Fucking. S._

_But then he lost control, and his eyes hit home._

_That. Chest. _

_Oh, God. Stop your eyes right now. Look away. Look. Away. Damn it._

Hank said a quick "thank you," when the glass was placed in his hand and drank his milk silently. He put the glass down after several gulps, but the glass remained half-filled.

Alex took a sip himself, rather unsuccessfully, since his eyes were let loose, and he didn't bother to stop them.

Because while death by eye-sexing Hank McCoy may not be a noble way to die, Alex would have regretted it if he did not allow himself to feast on the rarity offered before him.

There was a white stain on the skin area between below the scientist's nose and the top of his upper lip.

_Should he?_

_No. Don't._

_Do it. Do it._

_Maybe he shouldn't._

_Get yourself together, for fuck's sake._

"You have a…uh," he motioned to the 'problem' area with his index finger, "…on your face." The words came out strangely hoarse.

Hank raised his eyebrow, his finger mirroring Alex's, "Where?" It was terrible the way his finger hovered between one spot on his lips to the other. His eyes followed the finger, which never seemed to locate its target properly. "Here?"

He bit his tongue. Hank should die with that voice alone. He didn't know feigned innocence could be such a turn on.

"Or here?"

He shook his head and stepped closer, snatching up a piece of tissue paper in his left hand. "Here, you _bozo_," he said, raising the tissue to paper to Hank's face when his hand was pushed away gently and a hand was on the back of his head, pulling him close.

The tips of their noses touched. Hank chuckled, "Oh, I see," he murmured, "It's—right. There." And then Hank's lips brushed against his own (and he almost died), before capturing them in a kiss.

He could taste the milk on those lips, and oh, it was perfect. He didn't know Hank, _hell_, he didn't know _a nerd_ could kiss like that.

Then he felt tongue nudging his lips, asking for entrance. _Polite, sweet Hank_, he thought. _When will you know you never have to ask?_ His heartbeats raced as their kiss deepended, tongues entwined.

He might have moaned softly in his satisfaction when he heard a low, throaty hum. And his delight was cut short when Hank pulled away, licking his lips. "Thanks, um, for the milk."

Alex stared after that retreating back.

It was the sweetest defeat.

But when…and how…would he get a piece of that again?

Raven

She brushed his lips lightly against his cheek. "Lips," she said, "Save the best for last." She took her seat on the stool, watching the expression on his face (which pretty much remained unchanged. God, the guy could be such a rock sometimes).

"Strike the death shot, attack him."

Hank

Raven's advice were a bigger success than he'd expected, he mused as he stepped into Raven's room the following morning and took his seat on the chair opposite her dresser. That girl really could seduce guys.

The way she tried to do so with him.

_No. Away with the thoughts of the past. Focus on what's now._

Raven turned around to face him, hands hugging her knee on the bed. "So, how'd it go?"

He smiled. "It was perfect, thank you."

She touched a hand to her chest with a dramatic flair. "Ah, am I not a good tutor?"

He couldn't help but nod and agree along with her.

He cast his eyes down at the carpet, muttering. "I…I suppose he likes me."

She suddenly slapped his thigh, her voice incredulous, "Are you kidding? He wants _you_. From the way it sounds, at least the way you're looking right now, he's got it bad."

Hank blushed violently but did not reply.

There were knocks on the door. Hank's heart skipped a beat. _Alex._

Raven waved her hand in the air, as if she were in front of a whole crowd of applauding audience. "I'd like to thank the Academy," she said, turning to Hank for a final wink, "Now, if you'll excuse me—_go hide somewhere quick!_—I have a very important visitor to meet."

**A/N: Whoa. What did I do? What beastly (heheh) crime did I commit?**

**Alex, I'm sorry, you'll get to get him back, darling X).**

**And sweet, oblivious Hank, come back? Oh no? You don't want to? **

**Hope you've had fun reading as I had in writing it :P (this got waay long, but the boys wouldn't leave me alone lol)**

**You all mean so much to me, and I cannot thank each and everyone of you enough,**

**Loves,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**

**PS. Yes, for those of you "in the know," the line "I'd like to thank the Academy," is my tribute to the epic movie _Fight Club_. Edward Norton is awesome as Jack. He is also my spirit animal. XD.**


	5. Part V: Us

**Disclaimer: Sue me if you die gagging from the sweet fluff of this chapter. I'm sorry, but it had to be done.**

She was close.

He could feel her mane of blonde hair brush against his clothed knees, and his own ragged, alcoholic breaths from his lips.

Were they actually doing this?

He was confused. He wasn't sure. He thought he wasn't himself. Back in the living room, the way he stared more fixedly at her the more swings he took from the bottle. He watched her hips move to the beats of the music, watched her smiling eyes, and her pink lips, parted and closed when she spoke.

Alcohol was pressing hard on his nerves.

He shifted his sight to the blonde teenager seated beside a giggling ginger on the sofa opposite him and Darwin's. Alex held his half-filled glass loosely, a corner of his lips folded up into an indifferent smirk which separated him from the rest of the room. His eyes were vacant, and he barely had said a word since the party (so-called, it was just the six of them, after Charles and Erik had gone out for an evening in town) started.

When Hank caught his eyes, he found them brimming with unexplained restlessness. Alex looked away, and Hank was left staring at a robot, emptied of a soul.

What had he done wrong?

Her hand was playing with the hem of his shirt now. He looked up to meet her eyes. What a contrast. The green-gray shades invited him in. They seemed to beckon him to start his exploration of her body.

His heart raced. He wondered why it should be so delicious to enjoy his solitude with her, her, hovering over him like this. Him, seated down on the kitchen stool, drugged and deprived of his inhibition, as her dummy, her puppet.

It was dark. Only a light was on in the kitchen. He studied the way her face was illuminated, as her hands moved onto his shoulders.

He missed Alex. He missed that pleasurable tinge when their lips met. Alex's breathless gasps when his finger traced to the right spots.

But Raven was working on him. His hair prickled. Nerves jolted. His hypothesis that he would be unaffected was proven false. Didn't think he would hear his own gasps when her fingers trailed down his skin.

Maybe the belief he held onto about his preferences was crumbling.

On one rash impulse (looking back, he couldn't reason why either, perhaps his impatience with Alex), he reached out to catch her wrist. She stopped dancing, turned to look at him, and smiled. He stood up and pulled her in close. He avoided Alex's glare on purpose as he led her out. They stepped out of the living room together and headed towards the deserted kitchen.

Where they were.

Maybe human attraction wasn't as simple as magnetic poles.

She sat herself down on his lap. He was too breathless to stop her. It was ridiculous how her movements managed to manuver him out of his remaining wits.

She was close. Too close. Her cold lips touched his neck, and his air supply went low. The sensation transitioned at an agonizing slow pace up to his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips. He drank in the taste of her supple lips, savoring the kiss. Strange thing was, it wasn't that repulsive at all.

Their lips detached, her deft fingers moved to his shirt's top button. He sucked in a breath and held a hand to interrupt hers.

"Raven," he called, "Raven, I—"

She planted a light kiss on his hand. "Yes?"

He put her hand down to her side and shook his head. "I—I can't."

He saw the outline of a childish pout form on her face, before her lips tightened, and her expression resumed its formal mode. A blunt "Fine," escaped her lips. "Goodnight, Hank," she said, as a passing, her voice light, her lithe figure disappearing into the dark.

He watched her leave. "Goodnight," he mumbled after her. Of course she couldn't hear him, but he felt a silly obligatory sense to force the word out of him somehow. Stupid politeness.

Control had come over him the last minute. He could have gotten the girl…but just as well, it would have been just another night to her. He sensed it in her kiss.

Lust was there. No feelings, no emotions as evident when Alex's lips touched his.

He knew.

She might have thought Alex and him were characters in her soap opera. It was over. He wasn't going to let her play with them any longer.

Alex

Crazy morning.

He woke, head throbbing because of last night's drinking. His hair was a mess, his clothes lay scattered on the floor. Bright sunlight leaked through the window he left open. He sat up on his bed, a hand scratching his head. What the fuck happened?

He remembered promising himself not to drink. Half a glass at most.

Giggling Sean…Angel flying…and…no, focus on the important bits.

What important bits?

_Oh._

Hank.

Hank and that bitch Raven.

It's been a week since the 'incidents,' with Hank, and yes, he should be officially labeled a lunatic for avoiding the target of his desires. But he had his defense.

His defense. His enemy. His ex-friend. Whatever.

All the same person. Her.

"You serious about him?" she asked when he had slumped down on the chair facing her bed in her room that day, her tone the farthest from seriousness.

He slammed his fist on the soft bedsheets. "Raven," he said, (and goddamn it, he shouldn't have called her name!) "You mean you don't—" he almost sighed, his shoulders heaved up. "After all the—"

She raised a hand. As if a simple wave could settle him down. "I get it, mister," she said, "I get it."

"It was you, wasn't it?" he glared at her pointedly. "Taught him all that…."

She tilted her head. "What, me?" her innocence added fuel to his rising fire, "I might have…just a bit. The rest of it was him." She blew a stray strand of her hair from her face.

"You might need to do a bit of work yourself, too."

He narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Court him. Woo him. He's made his moves. It's your turn." She shrugged. Like other plans, the verbal initiation was the easiest part, the actual process the most difficult.

"What?" he repeated, incredulous. Hank expected…that? Was he supposed to?

Raven raised an eyebrow. "That's all, I guess. I'm not your matchmaker."

Her sentence knocked him down like a hard punch. There was silence as he searched for the proper words to respond. "Jesus….thanks?" he said, hesitant on whether to thank her or not. It came out as an insult. Great.

So he got up and left the room. He might have heard a satisfied chuckle when the door closed, but fancied his ears were mistaken.

Probably couldn't be.

He avoided Hank since then. He didn't believe Raven, of course, and he did lust after that hot piece of heaven, but…(and there was always a but in his life)…but now he doubted himself.

He didn't know how. Wooing? Courting? The complexity of dating routines weren't exactly his forte. Fate, having granted him his mutated ability, did not permit him a normal life. There were eyes, there were lips, and there were morning afters.

Approaching Hank after what the guy had done to him was impossible. Alex was trapped in the awkward position. He wanted to move on, though there's that load tugging at his conscience. What would Hank say?

Do it again? Walk right up to him and say he was serious?

Would Hank believe…him?

He had to. He had to know the effects he was causing, the cause of his disturbed mind and sleepless nights. He debated as he tossed in his bed whether he would 'make his move,' the following morning, met Hank's eyes, and turned away.

_Coward._

Until he walked out of his room this morning. And saw her.

In Hank's shirt. Wandering around the mansion. Wearing it, strutting around like it's some kind of trophy of her latest conquest.

His tone was harsh when he spoke. "I thought we agreed you'd fix this."

She crossed her arms at her chest, enjoying how loose Hank's shirt felt on her, and raised an eyebrow. "I did," she said, "I just thought he should have had a chance to experiment."

Fury (and some emotion unaccountable to her) turned Alex's face several shades of red. The comeback he had prepared for her retreated down his throat. She saw his fists ball up on either side of him as he continued, loud and firm, "I told you," he placed pointed emphasis on each word, and she almost pitied him right there. "I'm serious about him."

She could have refused to answer, but he remained rooted to the spot. Waited for her reply.

She shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry, but it takes two to tango," she gestured to the door, "Couldn't have forced it on him."

He groaned inwardly. She had walked away some minutes ago. He was still there, staring after her, eyes fixated on the hallway's carpet.

She had seen more of Hank. The sights that were supposed to be reserved for him. To be his. His reward for getting his courage to ask the guy out.

He closed his eyes.

Oh, God. And what else? What else? His lips on her body. Sucking. Taste of his skin. His hands. His breathless screams…

Everything that was his.

He took a step toward his room, having made up his mind that he could not face the rest of the mutants waiting for breakfast in the dining room without his pain being sensed and read by Charles (damn him if he did). His ears picked up the sound of the door's soft slam.

Hank walked out. He was wearing just his jeans, but Alex calmed himself enough to stand there, immune.

He locked eyes with Hank, unfazed by the mesmerizing blue orbs, as he stepped closer to the brunette, his hands on the young man's shoulders. "Goddamn it, Hank," he swore, frustrated, "Don't you understand?"

A troubled sigh escaped Hank's lips. Good. Because if the bastard wasn't guilty he wouldn't know what crime he was accusing him for. "Alex…"

The name. Please, don't call my name, he begged mentally. You have no idea what your exasperated voice does to me…please not…

He squeezed Hank's shoulder and forced himself not to break eye contact with the mutant. "After what you did to me," he sucked in a breath, "…and now…Raven—Raven, Hank, Raven. She's—" he bit his lip. "—away with you. Like that."

It took all of his self-control not to blush at the sight of Hank's cute, embarrassed face. The scientist jumped a little at his mention of her name. Bingo. Obvious guilt.

Only this time there was no traces of that self-satisfied pleasure of catching someone else red-handed in the act which he usually enjoyed.

He lowered one hand to his side now, half-way through the declaration of his defeat. "…You don't know, do you?" It was the first time the scientist took noticeable efforts to stare into his eyes. "How long I've been…oh, God," Alex spat. This was getting worse than he thought. If asking Hank out was a challenge, then this was his suicide mission (that he had registered in his mind to go ahead with). He had resorted to confessing to the upper powers instead. Silly, he knew, but he had run out of words. He had never been articulate, and at the right moments, he was anything but.

He cast his eyes down at his slippers, his free hand playing with his jacket's zip. Come on, Hank. Answer. Damn it.

Hank finally opened his mouth and returned his pains with a sheepish mumble. "I'm sorry," he said, hands cupping Alex's face, "I was drunk." His eyes, a display of a mixture of sincerity and guilt, attempted their best to plead for acceptance of his apology.

But Alex wasn't going down merely because of the weapon Hank had used to finish him off many times before. He shook his head, his tone furious, as sentences tumbled out of his lips, "Sorry doesn't make up for it. I know you thought I was a jerk, that I was joking, that I didn't give a damn about you, but what the hell if I did, what—"

His incoherent rambling, fueled by his rage, was silenced by Hank's lips on him.

Hank

I kissed him.

_I kissed him._

Hell, Henry McCoy, could you be any more stupid for one of the youngest PH.D grads? What the fuck. This wasn't right. This didn't compute.

You go around blaming people for messing with your mind, your perfect, organized schedule, your lab equipments lists. And look at you now, a mindless tool of the universe, serving your function to increase its anarchy and entropy.

I still remember the last time, no the first time—well, when it was the first time—I felt his lips. It was nice. He was shocked. Unprepared. As was this time.

_Has anyone ever told you you're good at ambush attacks?_

But he's enthusiastic. Meant it. I could tell. The pressure. The feel of it. The force with which he's kissing me back.

_Wait, he's kissing you back?_

….um, that sort of complicates things…doesn't it?

_A+, Hank, A+._

Are you using the second lowest form of humor on me?

_Works._

Get off. Get off me.

_He's not. Oh, look. Look at what he's doing to you now._

What? Come on, he's not going to—….

_Yes?_

….fuck. How was I supposed to know? Making out's delicious. His hands on me. You know the feeling? His lips. On my neck.

_He's pushing you back to the door. Focus, you're supposed to be the observant one here, Professor. _

You know how his tongue taste? What his shaggy blonde hair feels like against my skin?

_You're getting what you want, fine, I get that, but can we please get back to reality? Hello, McCoy 1 calling main control centre. You're walking backwards, copy that, walking backwards into your own bedroom—_

His hands are working at my jeans. We're laughing and stumbling. It's so bright but I feel so blind. Never seem to quite get there yet. The bed, I mean.

_-with one Alex Summers attached at your hips. _

We're on the bed. He's—

_Too late. Mayday. Mayday! Signal for help._

Oh, sweet heaven. He smells amazing…

_Do you know what you want, McCoy? Do you? Let me state the facts for you here—_

I can't. I'm occupied here. Can't you see? Oh, oh, God. That feels good. What's he doing?

_-One, you were with a girl last night, and—_

The contact. His skin on mine. Burning flesh. ….damn…

_-two, Alex Summers is not a girl. Simple enough for you?_

Definitely should get Alex mad more often. He's so fucking…fantastic.

_I guess not. _

Alex

He lay on his side of the bed, breathing heavily, the brunette lying close by. He sighed. _Why did I succumb to this again? Wasn't I supposed to be angry at him? As in, in the period of abstaining from Hank McCoy? _

The Hank McCoy whose lips are so damn delectable?

He felt a light nudge from the back and rolled over on his side to face Hank. Alex smirked in response to Hank's smug grin.

"So what are we now?" he asked, a playful finger tracing Hank's knee.

Hank chuckled. "Technically…nothing…yet?"

Alex punched him on the shoulder. "God, honestly, Hank."

The scientist smiled, "Are you seriously asking me the question after all of this?" he kissed the blonde softly on his cheek.

Alex grinned, laughter in his eyes, "Fuck you."

Hank tapped Alex on the head. "You already did."

Alex's lips curved into a pretended, indifferent 'O.' He shrugged. "I didn't know about that, tell me more."

Hank could be such a beast when he wanted to. Not that he was complaining. Hank's lips, presently working their way down his shoulder, was just the surface of the costs of his defeat. "Alex."

And that voice. Calling his name in mock exasperation. His happiness reflected in the scientist's eyes.

He rested his head on the soft pillow, a hand reaching up to slap Hank on the chin. "You sound like my subconscious sometimes, know that?"

The brunette's answer, stopping his ministration, resulted in a disappointed moan from Alex.

"All right, all right," he muttered, "Will you go out with me, you mad scientist?"

"Do you mean it?"

Alex made a click! noise with his tongue. "Oh, so you have the nerve to ask me that this time?"

An attack on the blonde's most vulnerable spot—his ear—and Alex was rendered to pieces.

He shuddered. "Yes, yes," he said, "I meant it, I meant it the first time, stupid!"

Hank smiled sheepishly back. "I…I liked you," he confessed, "I thought you were playing with me."

"I thought you were supposed to be the scientist," Alex poked him in the ribs, "You played with me, fucking tease."

There was silence as they both lay on their backs, relishing the minutes that passed.

"So what are we?" Hank brought up the question this time, a mention as if he didn't seem to care about the topic.

Alex rolled his eyes. "I don't know," he mused, "Beauty and the Beast?"

Hank whistled at Alex's choices of nickname. "No," he said, "I've got better."

"What."

"You and Me. You and Me. Otherwise Known as Us."

"Lame, lame, lame!" Alex mock-scolded him. A pillow flew and hit Hank square in the face.

They laughed.

Hank

And maybe it was just enough. Them. Together. Like this. Being able to joke about random things. Talk like they want to. Say the words they mean, without being afraid of what confessions might result in.

Alex had been pulling pranks on him too often that it brought on this unnecessary war between them. Raven was thrown in between, and probably had it in her mind that Alex wasn't serious about him. Thanks to her again, he knew the blonde was.

And he knew he was.

He was sure of them. The way they were.

(He could always tell her—it would be revealed somehow. With Sean around, secrets lost their meaning—that her efforts were for nothing. He was hurt. Alex was hurt. The games could have ended right there. Raven and her assumptions shook them up. But they cleared his heart, dismissed his belief that what he felt was one-sided.)

It might have been a quick patch-up, fixing that unseen tear on a piece of cloth, but they did leave loose ends to their story. (It was theirs now. Funny.)

For instance, he wished he'd never have to explain to Alex (he found this out from Sean) how Raven came to have his shirt that morning, or that (let Alex think the worst. The situation had turned out for the best, for his best.) the farthest he went with Raven was her lips.

He clasped his eyes on Alex's again, and the blonde winked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

There was something there in the brown eyes. Unspoken understanding. And with that look, he knew all could be discarded. It didn't matter.

They had each other.

Him and Alex. You. Me. We. Us. (and no one else).

From now, it depended on them for the 'us,' to remain.

And he did hope, as he pressed his lips to Alex's, that these good feelings could last a little longer.

**A/N: Yep. And that's it. Guys, I'm sorry if I kept you waiting long, especially those of you on Story Alerts, and came up with this. This chapter has been the hardest to write in my fanfic writing career so far. (Took me-you may avoid this part-countless drafts, frustrated sessions, a chocolate bar, one glass of milk tea, a 5-hour marathon of How I Met Your Mother, rewrites, more rewrites, Etta James' "Stormy Weather," and etc.) **

**Most of all, this chapter wouldn't have been possible without my dear friend and support, K. He's the best. My most sincere thank you for believing in me and supporting me all along. I was going to write one story and boom! this is my seventh Alex/Hank story. **

**Special thanks to Mrs. Unusual-In-Groovy-Ways and Beizenten for your kind reviews. I read every one of them and they each put a smile on my face. I'm sorry for Raven...but that's what the prompt where I got the idea from initially asked for (that the rest of the mansion give Alex the stink-eye). Raven might have gone a bit -off this chapter, but with the story having gone off the way it did through the chapters, this was her ending. (sort of. we never know.)**

**It did take me the whole three weeks to write this one chapter. And through those weeks, I attempt a new rewrite at least once each week. Didn't feel like it. The sentences didn't flow right. But here we are. Don't get me wrong, I didn't plan to just hastily finish it. This story is my baby, my favorite so far that I've written ever in my life, so I was serious and worried about the ending (thus the frustration in making it work). If time allowed, it might have been better (but yes, I had it planned for a short multichapter, so five of them), but university is calling me soon. And I have to wrap up my celeb-obsessed brain haha. So. I'm sending my baby off now. **

**Sorry for this long-ass author's note (probably the longest I have ever written, but I had to let it out, lots of explanation to do), you may skip everything (and this is why i put it at the very end),**

**I will always, always love all of you, my dear readers, reviewers, everyone who's clicked by or read through this story. I appreciate you all. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten to this point.**

**(Just because I might not get to write again after uni opens...)**

**Again, thank you for everything,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**

**PS. K, you have my word and my promise right here that if I ever get to write original work (by the time I've had my share of life experiences that I'm inspired enough hahahha), you're guaranteed the position of my editor and/or agent/rep (whatever you want to call it) haha, in that "awesome, famous, and cool" club.  
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	6. Bonus: Alex

Alex

Now you've gone and done it.

_What? What did I do?_

Ruined everything? Bastard. You told—damn it, encouraged me to do it. Didn't you?

_…_

Answer!

_…_

Oh, so you chose these times to be silent.

_Fine, fine! It was me. But it's all the same._

So what's the point of this argument?

_Nothing. Except you're pissed at Raven._

You, sir, are the master of the art of conversation.

_I learned from the best._

…get out of my head, will you?

_Can't. At least your fantasies of him are comforting._

WILL YOU PLEASE NOT BRING THEM UP AND LET ME DIE IN THE GLORY OF MY FAILURE?

_Wait…wait, are you saying you're giving up?_

Yes. What else?

_You're not like this. The Alex I know. You're not this…weak…_

God. It's…it's…not that, okay? I'm not going to bother explaining it to you. You, of all people, should understand why. You're my subconscious, for Christ's sake. …I'm not weak. Just. The look in his eyes. Did you see the look in his eyes?

_Clear as day._

You might be me, but stop bringing up lame cliches.

_…that, may be a part of what you picked up along the way…somewhere…in the…_

Look, I'm not going on a trip down memory lane with you.

_Get to the point, then._

Who's in charge here?

_Me. I mean, you. Well. What's the difference._

Whatever. He's hurt. Can't you tell?

_And don't you want to just…_

Don't you dare. I know I'm a prick but we're civilized mutants here. There's wooing, flirting, you know the sort. A date. We don't fuck like animals!

…

At least. I'd want to know he feels the same. Or is interested.

_So what's the plan?_

I'm hurt. He's hurt. Game over.

_Too simple. Think._

What?

_Think. He's hurt. He might care._

As in…

_A little more action to show him your interest wouldn't hurt you. Or him._

Prove it, you mean?

_Uh, you just said so yourself?_

I'm you. When will you ever get that into your head?

_I'm already in your head._

Shut up.

**A/N: Bonus chapter :D. Snippet from one of my drafts of Alex and his split self after the "get out" scenario with Hank.  
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**Once more, I love you all and will miss you so much,  
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**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**


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